At the Los Alisos Intermediate School polling place in Mission Viejo, inspector Hugh Lander helps a voter with the voting machine on election night Tuesday. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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During a lull in the voting activity at the Los Alisos Intermediate School polling place, Register writer David Whiting waits for voters with fellow polling place clerks. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Eleanor Frank, center, and Susan Groszkruger, right, check the address of a voter at the Los Alisos Intermediate School polling place in Mission Viejo on election night Tuesday. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Student polling place clerk Austin Griffith of Mission Viejo cuts out individual "I Voted" stickers to hand out to voters on election night Tuesday. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Register writer and polling place volunteer David Whiting, right, works the polling place at Los Alisos Intermediate School in Mission Viejo. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

But something else also happens, something that reminds you of a barbershop or salon where everybody knows your name.

It's 4:30 p.m. Election Day and I'm a clerk at a precinct in South County. A line snakes out the door of the library at Los Alisos Intermediate School. Eight machines record votes nonstop.

As poll workers, we started our day with an oath to support the Constitution. Discussing anything political is forbidden within 100 yards. The Stars and Stripes hangs on a wall reminding why we're here.

Inspector Hugh Lander hands a citizen an "I voted" sticker. But the voter places the wafer-size sticker on his tongue, puts his hands together and offers a slight bow.

It's a moment of irreverent – and reverent – humor. It's also a moment that perfectly captures a polling place's magic.

• • •

Lander, national sales manager for Remy Cointreau, likens his job as a poll inspector to that of a maître'd.

I'll add a very good maître'd with a deep devotion to the democratic process.

Lander and his wife are raising two children, ages 4 and 8, and he travels three weeks a month. Yet he finds time to volunteer every election as well as maintain enthusiasm for 17 straight hours each election day.

It's in his blood. Lander grew up in Indiana and Mom worked elections for three decades. To honor her and to honor what America stands for, Lander doesn't just volunteer, he volunteers with passion.

He doesn't care how people vote; he just wants everyone to vote.

Although he has zero control over who shows up or how many votes are cast, Lander puts today's goals on a white board.

He writes the turnout from the last primary for this precinct: 25.9 percent and draws a sad face.

He writes there are 965 registered voters in the precinct. Of those, 355 voters receive mail ballots. That leaves 610 available voters.

Lander confides he hopes for at least a 60 percent turnout.

The early morning is busy. But by 10 a.m., only 105 people have voted. Lander needs another 300 voters to make goal.

Will the inspector be defeated?

• • •

With five clerks, we rotate positions. A woman to my right works the roster, asking voters to sign their names on a list of everyone eligible to vote in the precinct.

The woman to my left handles paper ballots if a voter prefers paper over machine. She also helps Lander with provisional ballots, which are needed when someone has been issued a mail ballot, didn't use it but doesn't have it.

I am the street index clerk. My job is to ask voters their addresses and cross their names off a street roster which is duplicated every hour for anyone who wants to see who voted.

It turns out the women on either side of me are sisters, Eleanor Frank of Mission Viejo and Joan Taylor of Laguna Woods.

With a slow but steady stream of voters, we don't talk much while focusing on our tasks. The last thing any of us wants is to mess up an election – although it would make a nifty column.

The sisters started working elections about three years ago as they neared retirement. Understand, working an election is nothing like retirement. These women helped set up the polling place the day before, started work at 6 a.m. and won't go home until after 9 p.m.

Like Lander they aren't in it for the pay, about $100. They are here to serve.

The afternoon is slow. By 3 p.m., only 232 people have voted.

Still, the inspector remains upbeat and predicts an onslaught.

• • •

I now run a gizmo called a JBC, the brains of the operation. The machine records tallies and prints individual access codes to voting machines.

At 4 p.m., voters start arriving in waves. I hand out access codes as fast as machines are available.

Lander smiles, "We're cooking with gas now."

The voters reflect a diverse tapestry – large, skinny, elderly, young, black, white, brown. A dad comes in with two young children. After he votes, he asks for stickers for his kids, explaining they voted at school.

A mother arrives with her son, who is voting for the first time. Another mother staggers in with three boys, ages 4, 3 and 8 months.

Everyone leaves with the same red, white and blue badge – except a cub scout whose uniform already is covered with badges.

Austin Griffith, a 17-year-old junior at Mission High, clerks next to me. With a pilot father and a flight attendant mother, Griffith grew up in the neighborhood and, yes, nearly everyone knows him.

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